


lovely little lifeless heartbeat.

by caticoo



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: (ciel voice) mmmm lasaaga, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, M/M, SAVING FROM SUICIDE, Screw the system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 21:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12802449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caticoo/pseuds/caticoo
Summary: how did i save you, when i can't even save myself?





	lovely little lifeless heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kirumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirumi/gifts).



> i'm dead with writing my writing hand is dead goodbye

There is a boy in your class whom you have watched ever since the first day you arrived at Hope’s Peak Academy.

For some reason, he has never been like everyone else. He has always been, somehow, indefinitely, different. You tried to decipher how he was different than everyone else (you went through social media accounts of the people that he knew, you went through his own posts even though you found little in the end). You thought, maybe, it was because of how wonderfully tall he was (you thought it was wonderful, at least). You thought, maybe, it was because he bothered to wish you a good morning once or twice, with that soothing, crisp voice of his. You thought, maybe, in all the little things about him you so creepily took notice of -- how, when he blinked, his left eye closed point five seconds before his right (you assumed this was a reflex of his archery). You noticed that when he was uncomfortable, he let his eyes trace to what was directly in front of him instead of a subject that might be causing his stress. You noticed that, sometimes, he caught you staring at him, and when you looked away, you could barely see a lopsided-smile paint his face.

It takes you until the winter of you first year to realize you are in love with him. It happened just as you learn that he has a newfound girlfriend, and you felt the rumored, dreadful feeling of heartbreak. It lasted. You stopped trying to look at him, knowing you were only a handful of dirt in comparison to the high pedestal you had perched your precious archer upon. You knew he was probably, likely, weirded out by your staring ever since he had first caught eye of it -- you knew it was disgusting anyways. After all, you are a boy. He is a boy. Would it not be weird, to have a boy stare at you at every given moment, without you being a girl? You damned yourself. You thought wrong, and you tried to distract from these thoughts the best you could (no method worked).

However, nothing could have possibly prepared you for what had happened last winter.

You roamed the streets around Hope’s Peak Academy, desperately searching for any sort of distraction from reaching your lonely heart's club. You had found yourself sleeping in that particular tree again, hoping for his warm embrace to awake to ( _ how perverted _ , some would think). A flickering ember inside your soul, fueled by your love for him, even though you knew well that the chances he would be there were slim. You were angry at yourself for being upset that you were only met with the clean, cold, lonely air of the AMs when you woke up, and not the hearty feeling and the sweet melody of his tattooing beat against your ear. You really were perverted.

It was only a logical reasoning, and even now you wonder why you stayed (but you know, don't you? It's because you love him and you always had). He had not been showing up to classes, and so every possible chance of any sort of interaction or joy from actually attending was lost. You wondered where he was, and wondered if he was doing well -- if he still missed his ex-girlfriend, or if he had moved on to become something badder in the long wrong. The logic in you said you should not have been in love with a young man who was rumored to smoke around the area past bedtime -- this can only be bad news. Perhaps what drawed you to start traveling around that night was this knowledge, with the small ounce of hope that you’d encounter him. You did.

He was leaned against the edge of the bridge just near the academy. You could hear it, even though you were not directly close -- you remember his sobbing, and the sounds of whimpers and regrets and sorrow painfully injected into every sound. It stunned you, seeing such a large man cry (you think you’re the only one that does the crying in your class,) and what stunned you even more is seeing him climb onto the thick concrete railing and look down at the half frozen, half chilled river below. You’ve seen this scene before, in your fantasies, and in them you had envisioned seeing this with yourself far too many times -- but seeing it for in front of you shocked you to a point where you found your feet having a mind of its own, and your quiet lips finally, finally found the ability to say his name. With no hesitance, no regret, nothing but you and yourself to hide, as your voice raised into the scream against the barren AM night, “Kobayashi-san!”

It's the loudest you've screamed in many years, and you remember feeling your own vocal cords rattle against your throat. You remember the crack in your voice, the desperation, the despair -- as if your arm was getting ripped off, and it was your last plea for mercy. You remember the look on his face, when he looked to your direction, and the most curious-ridden expression chose to mask his tears. You remember your heart, pounding,  _ pounding, _ pleading for you to return to your comfort zone -- but saving him was out of it, and you would rather die than stay where you usually saw fit. You remember the pain you felt when you slowed to a stop right below his feet, and you remember how he did not hesitate to help you regain your usual, bedridden state (for this, he stepped down, and for this, he cradled you, just a moment.) You were wheezing, like an old car exhaust, and you were gasping for air you wanted to keep selfishly for yourself. But instead, you used it for something you believe and will always believe was much more important -- you grabbed him gently by the tie, and you sputtered, “P-Please, stay.”

He stayed and listened. Even though he was shivering, the tears of his prior actions staining your sleeve-hidden arms, he stayed. He leaned back against the railing, and he watched you as you were absolutely sure every large, pitiful feeling you have ever felt about the concept of suicide was delivered into your impromptu persuasion speech. You said things you did not even believe of yourself, rather, they were things you wanted someone to say to  _ you _ if you were him, on the brink of your life -- and there were truths, in some of the words you so carelessly spat at him. When you gasped through your breaths, “Wh-Why are you doing this, Kobayashi-san?” When you made small admittances, “I noticed how sad you were. You… you don't smile the way you used to.” When you inappropriately became flustered, after saying, “I-I'm sorry for… being shy. You… I've just always thought you were too  _ cool  _ for me. Too… high up the social ranks. I never understood… why, um, I mean… why you were ever nice to me.”

You told him how you remembered the little thing he did for you. The smallest actions, burning into your brain cells (of course, not described like that, because that’d be weird, right?) and holding into your memory, stuffed with zentangle patterns and usernames for everyone’s social media accounts. And you wondered if any of this would matter, as his eyes had still trailed over his shoulder, wondering, and contemplating. So you inhaled, exhaled (mist left your breath as you do so,) and stepped forward to find a home again in the crook that was his chest -- you were met with an earful of thumping, and you damned yourself for being selfish. This was what you wanted, in the very end of it, but at the same time, something in your being told you that this was fine -- you were small, and your massive height difference wouldn’t provide much for body heat, but you could try. You could try, as you managed to peep out, softly, “...You’re the only person that… that seems to care.”

Somehow, some way, your words seemed to change his mind.

You beckoned him far, far away from the dangerous ledge that equalled death, and welcomed him into your life as a substitute. You wondered if this would be enough, if he still would be thinking about coming back to the sweet relief of being deceased, but you hoped well enough it wouldn’t. As illogical as it is, thinking that your stupid, stupid presence is enough to convince him to stray away from something so pleasurably, sickeningly sweet such as the afterlife, you hoped it worked anyways. You hoped. And you’re still hoping.

But he’s much happier now, you’re sure. The way he smiles at you makes your heart rate pick up, and you feel as if you need life support 90% of the time (well, you sort of do, but that isn’t important, is it?) When he laughs to you, in your direction, but not at you, you feel the radiation of his genuineness -- it’s different, you believe, from the polite chuckles he gives the peppy blonde girl in your class when she bugs him about his height, or the amused huffs he delivers to the boy of misfortune, desperately apologizing for any bad luck that rubs off onto him. You like to believe he loves you back. But you’d never know.

You’re content with it, if anything. If this is how far life will give you with him, then you’re happy -- seeing him standing at the doorway holding it for your worthless little body is good enough. You don’t need to get closer than that, as much as your heart craves it -- sometimes you take risks as big as his attempts at death. You stray a little closer when you walk together, you brush your arms together from time to time, you try to sit closer to him during lunch time (when you even eat, but you’ve noticed you’re trying to eat more, too). Your body is still thin and frail, but you’re keeping track of your weight now -- you want to get better for him.

Him, the boy who gave you hope. The boy that shines brighter than your computer screen, while you flip through your classmates’ social media profiles. The boy that has embraced you one of several times after the first time you hugged him, and the boy who made your lovely little lifeless heart beat again (or at least, it felt that way). You try making him chocolates, but you stumble on your way up the stairs, and you feel death’s grasp upon your wrist -- but no. It turns out to be him, and you can only be grateful, as he tenderly asks you if you are okay, bringing you close once more. Your heart melts like the chocolates now on the steps of the stair, but you don't mind.

You may have saved him from death, but he has saved you from so much more.


End file.
